


King of Anything

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [25]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Series, Post-it Notes, Queer Sam Week, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way to work for a stressful day, Sam finds something extra in his lunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of Anything

**Author's Note:**

> late for work! tiny fic but cute. song is "king of anything" by sara b.

Sam is having trouble at work with one of his colleagues. They are an older, male lawyer who goes by old-school rules with a big mouth and no regard for anyone else. 

Scrambling out the door, Sam is trying to mentally prepare himself for another day of listening to this man go on and on about their cases, make snide remarks under his breath about everyone in the office, and elbow Sam whenever one of their female coworkers passes by. It's stressful. Sam is contemplating several ways out, but in the mean time, he has to deal with the man and do his job.

Out the door, on the driveway, Sam is juggling his briefcase, his laptop, his phone, and his house keys. He's forgetting something. Shit. 

The tapping of a cane joins the chaos of noise around Sam. 

"Yo Sasquatch," Dean snaps, leaning heavily on his cane, holding a dark blue tote bag in his other hand. "Next time, before you make a fucking mess of my kitchen, think to yourself, 'My poor, dear old brother has to clean this shit up.' You use eighty dishes to make yourself one salad." The bag is handed over. Sam leans over for a quick peck on Dean's cheek, who responds to it by swatting at him and growling, "Fuck you. Fuck six a.m. Fuck your salad. Now I have to go in and do the dishes. Go. Get out of here." 

Fifteen minutes later, Sam boards the pink line, sitting down with all of this stuff, taking in a deep breath and wishing it was five in the afternoon instead of six in the morning. 

He pokes inside his tote bag to make sure Dean didn't spit in his salad. 

A post-it has been stuck onto the apple Sam usually packs. He expects it to say something similar to Dean's scolding. 

In Dean's neat, block handwriting, the post-it turns into five.

"You've got opinions man, we're all entitled to, but I never asked. So let me thank you for your time and try not to waste anymore of mine. Get out of here fast. I hate to break it to you babe, but I'm not drowning. There's no one here to save. Who cares if you disagree? You are not me. Who died? Who made you king of anything?"

At the end of the song, there's a reward. 

"<3 Kick his ass, baby." 

Well. Sam doesn't fight his smile.


End file.
